


hold your camera like a bible

by notquiteaghost



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff without Plot, Modern AU, Multi, established relationships - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 07:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notquiteaghost/pseuds/notquiteaghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Courfeyrac had told him once, from behind the lens of his camera as always, that he takes pictures of things he wants to remember, moments he wants to immortalize forever. Beautiful things, sure, but also happy things, funny things, cute things. Heck, even sad things. His camera is his memory, his way of keeping track of himself.</em>
</p><p>Alternatively titled 'Courfeyrac Is One With The Camera'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hold your camera like a bible

Click.

Grantaire is laughing about something, hard and loud and Christ, it's been so long since he's laughed like that, Courfeyrac had almost forgotten what it looks like.

Click.

Enjolras is laughing with him, snaking at an arm around Grantaire's waist and pressing his smile into Grantaire's curls. 

Grantaire leans into him, like he doesn't even realise he's doing it.

Click.

-

Jehan is pretty sure Courfeyrac's surgically attached to his camera.

Except, as far as he knows, Creep is still fictional (Joly would definitely have the mother of all panic attacks and alert everyone immediately if something like that ever developed in the real world), so not really. But it damn well seems like it.

Jehan had known Courfeyrac for three whole months before he saw him without it, and he was fast asleep on someone else's couch at the time.

So, yeah, the picture thing isn't too big of a deal.

It's not like Jehan has any right to complain; he's filled two whole journals with poems about Courfeyrac at this point. And, well. It's kind of sweet.

Courfeyrac had told him once, from behind the lens of his camera as always, that he takes pictures of things he wants to remember, moments he wants to immortalize forever. Beautiful things, sure, but also happy things, funny things, cute things. Heck, even sad things. His camera is his memory, his way of keeping track of himself.

And, well. If Courfeyrac takes so many damn pictures of Jehan, then it's pretty obvious what that means.

Scratch that. It's not just sweet. It's very sweet. 

It's fucking adorable.

-

Click.

Jehan is fast asleep, hair a halo around his head, limbs sprawled out like some kind of octopus, covers kicked away to reveal his torso and his ridiculous Cummings tattoo (the composition couldn't be better if Courfeyrac had arranged Jehan himself). The sun, sneaking in through a gap in the curtains, is casting a yellow glow on his skin (Christ, the lighting is perfect). And there's a smile on Jehan's face, meaning he's dreaming of happy things, summer picnics and flowers blooming and breathless laughter and Courfeyrac, hopefully.

Courfeyrac is hit by a sudden urge to kiss him. He takes another picture, then another, then another - click, click, click - then puts down the camera and leans over to wish Jehan good morning.

-

It always surprises people, when they find out he's not studying photography at school.

And, okay. He supposes, if Jehan told him he wasn't majoring in English, he'd be pretty confused too. But photography isn't like that. Him and his camera aren't like that.

It's not something he wants to turn into a job. It's not something he wants to be graded on. It's something he does, by himself, for himself. He doesn't see why he should involve anyone else. (As anything other than subjects, that is).

He keeps his camera on him at all times, and occasionally gives in and lets Combeferre submit his photographs for gallery showings and competitions and God knows what else, and he goes to classes on Philosophy and Sociology, and that's how he likes it.

-

Click.

Enjolras and Grantaire are curled up together, Enjolras practically in Grantaire's lap, in the armchair in the corner of the room. A film is playing on the TV, and Feuilly is making some joke about Chris Evan's arse (even though this is the third time they've watched Avengers, and at some point, those jokes are gonna start to get old), and almost everyone is paying attention either to the screen or the ginger prat, but Enjolras and Grantaire are completely absorbed in each other.

Grantaire has his arms around Enjolras' waist, and Enjolras has one hand rested on Grantaire's hip and the other on his neck, and they're whispering about something, both of them wearing matching lovey-dovey grins.

Courfeyrac might show them the photograph later - he's planning on giving all of his friends some kind of photo album or collage type thing for Christmas, because seriously, what else are they expecting? - but, for now, he's content to let them have their moment. 

Click. Click.

As long as they don't mind him recording it, of course.

-

You can't be camera shy and be friends with Courfeyrac. It just doesn't work.

He's too stealthy, to be honest. The number of times, when going through the files on his laptop, Combeferre has come across a photo he doesn't even remember being taken, it's borderline ridiculous.

And, well. He's also really, really good at it, always knowing just how to frame a shot, what to include and what to leave out, how to angle it, how best to work with the lighting at hand. Every photo he takes comes out looking good, if not great, if not perfect. It's like photography is his superpower.

...Actually, that would explain a lot.

Combeferre didn't used to like having his picture taken. He used to hate it, even, convinced he looked stupid no matter what he did. Courfeyrac has somehow conditioned him into thinking otherwise, without him even noticing, because now, when he sees Courfeyrac produce his trusty camera from Christ-knows-where, he doesn't flinch, he doesn't pale, he doesn't hide. He hardly even notices.

Seriously. Superpower.

-

Click. 

Feuilly's making some joking accusation about Bahorel's strength, how he looks all muscle but he's actually really pathetic, and Bahorel's raising an eyebrow in an 'oh yeah?' kind of way.

Click. 

Bahorel's betting he could pick Feuilly up, not that that would prove much, scrawny fucker that he is. Feuilly's laughing and challenging him to prove it. There's barely an inch between them, and Bahorel is either going to take him up on it or snog him senseless. (Either way, it's a beautifully framed shot.)

Click.

Bahorel's picking Feuilly up and spinning him around, both of them laughing hard enough to hurt, despite Feuilly's token protests for Bahorel to "put me the fuck down, you bastard, or I'll put cyanide in your morning coffee, I swear to God I will-".

Click.

Bahorel's dropping Feuilly on his arse, and Feuilly's swearing up a blue streak and promising revenge, bloody and brutal revenge. Bahorel laughs down at him and challenges him to prove it.

Click. Click.

Feuilly's grabbing Bahorel's leg and tugging him down, wrestling him to the ground. A fight for dominance ensues.

Click.

Feuilly's sitting on Bahorel's chest.

Click. Click. Click.

Bahorel has Feuilly's arms pinned above his head.

Click.

Feuilly's crying uncle, uncle, for fuck's sake, you win, let me the fuck up or we're going for another round. Bahorel's laughing, there's a beat, and then Feuilly's hands are wrapped around Bahorel's jaw and Bahorel's clutching tight at Feuilly's waist and their mouths are locked together in a passionate kiss.

Courfeyrac takes one more photo (even though they'll probably burn him alive if either of them ever find out about it), then pushes himself off the grass and wanders back over to where Jehan is lent against a tree, entirely absorbed in the Keats he's reading.

(Click.)

-

Joly is having a panic attack.

It's subtle, quiet - he's trying not to draw attention to himself. And Courfeyrac knows, if Bossuet was here or Musichetta wasn't busy with the lunchtime rush, then someone would already be helping him calm down.

Joly's having a panic attack, and as far as Courfeyrac can tell, no one else has noticed. At least, he's assuming no one else has noticed, because no one else is doing anything about it, and if they've decided not to help Joly then Courfeyrac is going to have to hurt them.

"Hey." Courfeyrac says, moving to sit next to Joly, who's currently staring hard at the floor, his arms wrapped tight around his stomach, breathing out of rhythm and lip bitten bloody. "Have I shown you my new camera yet?"

Joly glances up to stare at him. His eyes are wide and panicked. "What?" 

"My new camera." Courfeyrac repeats, pulling it out from his bag. "It's got all these really cool features. I mean, they're not the sort of thing I usually use, they're not very professional or anything, but they're good fun. Wanna see?"

He slides close to Joly, so they can both see the screen of the ridiculously complicated digital camera Courfeyrac's parents had given him. He turns it on, and starts to talk Joly through the various effects you can use to make your pictures look varying degrees of stupid.

He keeps his voice quiet, calm and friendly. He doesn't crowd Joly, or pressure him, or even mention Joly's anxiety at all. He explains things, and he gets Joly to laugh, and he doesn't think Joly even realises he's being distracted.

After a while, he's got Joly almost as calm as Joly ever gets (at least, in public and without Bossuet or Musichetta), and they're taking zoomed-in fish-eye photos of unsuspecting strangers.

When Musichetta is finally able to take a five-minute break, Joly starts chattering excitedly about what Courfeyrac showed him the second she's within earshot, and she shots Courfeyrac a grateful smile as she sits down on Joly's other side, wrapping one arm around his waist and pressing a kiss into his hair. 

Courfeyrac shrugs, smiles, and tries to convey 'honestly, it's no big deal' through body language alone as best he can. Then he reaches for His Camera (the one he's had for almost a decade now, the SLR film camera that isn't the best camera he owns but is still his favourite), because he doesn't get to see Joly this excited that often and, obviously, he needs to immortalise this moment.

-

Click.

Gavroche, Jehan, Marius and Combeferre are watching Adventure Time.

Click.

Courfeyrac has no idea what's going on in the show - he hasn't watched nearly enough episodes with a high enough level of concentration to have a decent grasp of the characters or the plot. All he knows is crazy shit happens, there's apparently a really infuriating snail, and Jehan has started picking up the main character's speech patterns - but the others are enthralled.

The TV screen is the only light source in the room, discounting the fact that they're in London and London is never dark because of all the goddamn light pollution, and it's casting their faces in that eery blue glow.

Click.

They're all sitting on the sofa in Combeferre and Eponine's living room (apart from Courfeyrac, who is leaning in the doorway). Marius is at one end, and Gavroche is sat mostly in Marius' lap, even though he's a foot and a half shorter than Marius at the very most and is, thus, not really small enough to fit comfortably. Jehan is in the middle, because Jehan is always in the middle, his knees pulled up to his chest, and Combeferre is on his other side, one arm over Jehan's shoulders. It's as close to a puppy pile as they can get without moving to the floor, basically, which Courfeyrac assumes has something to do with the distressing nature of the plot of the current episode.

Click. Click.

Courfeyrac stands there, camera in hand, until the episode finishes. And then Jehan turns to him and says, "Are you just going to stand there all evening, darling, or are you going to come over here and cuddle?"

And, well. Courfeyrac's never been one to pass up an opportunity to cuddle, so he sets his camera down on the table and settles into the not-really-existent gap between Jehan and Marius. He can go without taking a picture for an hour or two.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Except, as far as he knows, Creep is still fictional_ is a reference to Hybrids by David Thorpe, which is a novel about a virus called Creep that causes people to merge with technology they use frequently. (10/10 would recommend).
> 
> also, there is an accompanying jehan!POV/written-by-jehan poem [here](http://idoubtthereforeimightbe.tumblr.com/post/49020401642) on my tumblr.


End file.
